


Jaded

by scared_pottah



Category: Harry Potter- J.K. Rowling
Genre: Fights, M/M, Proposals, Ring Pops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-22 23:14:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18537427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scared_pottah/pseuds/scared_pottah
Summary: But Harry has already Summoned his trunk from their room. Picking it up, he walks briskly towards the door, assuming an air of indifference."Have a brilliant wedding."





	Jaded

**Author's Note:**

> Based on an animatic representation of Hamilton’s "Burn’.

 

Draco's blood turns to ice as he watches Harry stab at the newspaper, folding and crunching under the force of his anger.

Oh shit, no, fuck, this was not how this was supposed to so. Draco was going to sit down with him and explain- no, and now he'd  _seen,_ because Rita Skeeter could never really keep her bloody mouth shut, could she?

"Would you kindly mind explaining  _what the bloody fuck this is?_ " Harry snarls, tossing the paper onto the table with a snap.

"Harry, I- I'm sorry, really, they- they were accusing me of being a- a  _gay_ , and Father was upset, so I had to-"

"Well, isn't that what you fucking are?!" Harry roars, cutting Draco off, and he flinches back. "If you aren't a  _fucking homosexual,_ then what are you? Why are you sleeping with men- the Chosen One, specifically? Upholding your Malfoy standards?"

Draco nearly stops breathing. 

"Oh no, no, Harry, I swear I love you, I just- they- I couldn't-"

"You are so  _fucking_ obsessed with your legacy, Malfoy. With your name. This is just—utter  _shit."_

 _"_ I- Harry, wait,-"

But Harry has already Summoned his trunk from their room. Picking it up, he walks briskly towards the door, assuming an air of indifference. 

"Have a brilliant wedding."

 

The newspaper still lies on the kitchen table, headline facing up.

MALFOY HEIR EXPOSES PLANS FOR MARRIAGE WITH ELDEST GREENGRASS DAUGHTER. DATE TO BE ANNOUNCED.

Draco rips the paper into shreds and throws them into the fire, but it doesn't bring Harry back.

* * *

It's been exactly a week since Harry walked out on Draco, a week since the article was published. Dirty dishes are mounding in the sink and the laundry is overflowing, but Harry is determined to  _never see the bastard again._ The Daily Prophet is still arriving daily at Grimmauld Place, but even the sight of a headline makes Harry feel sick. He doesn't want anything to do with it.

In exactly one more week, the headline carries Draco's name. 

Harry doesn't want to know when his wedding is. Never, if it's with Astoria.

It was supposed to be with him.

The shreds of the newspaper are about to go into the fire when Harry notices a piece of his own name.  _Don't be weak,_ he scolds himself.  _Don't get all angsty over— over him._

But he finds himself at the dusty table nevertheless, feverishly piecing together the crumpled paper. 

When it's finally complete, it—wait, this can't be right.

Malfoy Heir Cancels Wedding with Greengrass, Declares Love For Boy Who Lived Instead

Rita Skeeter style.

Wait,  _what the fuck,_ that doesn't sound like Draco. He has too much pride for that.

But there Draco is, on the front cover, nervously swallowing and a shade paler than usual, but still staring out firmly at the crowd.

 _Fucking judge me all you want,_ he says to them.

When he turns and notices Harry staring wide-eyed at him, he breaks into that smile.

And Harry can't stand it all over again. 

* * *

Precisely fifteen days, seven hours, and forty-five minutes after Harry leaves, Draco receives a letter. 

A large, standard-looking brown owl bursts through the window, drops the letter in Draco's tea, shits all over the table, and flies away. 

But Draco no longer cares about bird crap over the hand-carved oak table; rather, he's mainly focused on retrieving the damp piece of parchment from the tea, already cold.

The ink is smudged, but Draco is able to make out one sentence:

_We need to talk._

* * *

Draco never expected to find himself on the porch of the old Black family house, staring anxiously at the metal crest fastened to the door.

His breath catches when the door creaks open slowly to reveal Harry, dressed in a green jumper that matches his eyes and tight sweatpants. Draco swallows, eyes tracing the faint outline of Harry's cock.

"Malfoy," Harry says slowly, and Draco is surprised at the edge to his voice. Is that really who he is to Harry again? But no, he wants to be Draco. Not Malfoy.

Malfoy is his father.

Draco _Draco Draco,_ so beautiful and perfect on Harry's lips.

Five minutes later, they are in old, dusty rocking chairs that seem like they could collapse at any second, sipping some kind of iced lemon juice that Harry promises does not taste like sour fermented shit.

Draco doesn't believe him.

And he never imagined he would be here on Harry Potter's porch, making awkward small talk. Draco doesn't know whether he wants to run away or fuck Harry senseless. So he rocks back and forward, listening to the creak of the wooden floorboards. 

"If you're going to live your life by these—these  _rules,_ I want you to know that this is never going to work out," says Harry suddenly, staring at the floor. "And believe me, I want it to, I do, but you can't let your father control who you are." 

Draco doesn't have anything to say, so he says nothing.

But suddenly, Harry reaches over and puts his hand on Draco's, and Draco jumps and spills his lemonade over his shirt.  _Fuck, Draco, really smooth._ "Shit," Draco murmurs. "Just take it off," says Harry awkwardly, handing him a napkin. "It's not like I've never seen you—I mean—" Draco blushes and dabs at the stain. 

They sit and rock for a few more minutes, relaxing in each other's familiar warmth. Then Harry turns to Draco and puts his glass on the table. "Do you want to talk?" 

And Draco doesn't, he really doesn't, but one look into those beautiful jaded eyes, and he's spilling everything, babbling out apologies and nearly sobbing when Harry's hand tightens around his. "Take it slowly," he says, giving Draco a faint smile that still makes his heart whirl.

"They–I mean, Rita Skeeter, came to my house, and said she was interviewing me about if I was really a gay, and Father was standing in the corner staring at me, and I couldn't–I mean,"

But he's silenced with the press of lips against his own. He stops, shocked, but melts into it.  _Merlin,_ he's so fucking in love, it's not even funny.

Harry pulls away much too soon, asking him _are you sure this is what you want?_

"I've never wanted anything so much," Draco says honestly, hoping Harry will believe him. "I- I've never loved anyone like this. And really, I don't know what to do about it." 

Harry laughs and pulls him closer, but then tenses and pulls away. "I-"  _Oh no, no, this is when it happens, this is when Harry realises that he deserves so much more than me. This is when he leaves._

"Draco, oh  _Merlin,_ I'm so nervous—there has never been a moment I've spent with you that's been wasted. And I don't regret all the years we spent hating each other, because then it wouldn't be the same.  _We_ wouldn't be the same. And it might not have been worth as much."

He sinks down to one knee and pulls out a small, dark velvet box. Draco's heart beats a million times faster (all the blood seems to pump to either his face or his cock) and he lets out a quiet gasp, eyes widening at the delicate silver ring resting inside and the single word, gently engraved on the band's side.

_Always._

* * *

_Draco Lucius Malfoy, will you marry me?_

_Draco Lucius Malfoy, will you marry me?_

_Draco Lucius Malfoy, will you marry me?_

Why can't he say it?!

Say it!

But he can't.

So he drops the box and runs, leaving Draco alone on his porch. Staring after him.

* * *

 A week later, Draco can barely stand to see Potter.

The  _nerve_ of that bastard, half-proposing to him and running away!

And what is Draco to do but to come back to his house and knock again.

And again, and again, and again, until the door opens.

* * *  
  
This time, Harry gets the sentence out. It tastes like freedom, and the future. So he says it again, and again, and again.

_Marry me?_

But he's lost the ring. So he proposes with a sticky half-eaten Ring Pop in his back pocket, blushing, and he'll never live this down.

Draco laughs so hard he nearly cries.

But of course he says yes. 

_Yes!_

Because Malfoy-Potters can do anything they want.

And Malfoy-Potters can love whomever they want.

It feels like freedom.

**Author's Note:**

> And Harry tastes like raspberries as Draco flings himself into his arms and kisses that brilliant smile off his lips.  
> Draco vows to buy a million boxes of candy if that means being able to taste that every day, every time, every smile, with the man he's more than delighted to spend the rest of his life with.


End file.
